Dreams
by Araceli L
Summary: Another "inspirational" piece, but with a bit more story this time. Read without looking at the characters for a surprise  sorta . Now that I've tackled beauty, what are dreams? "Spiritual" is the only category that fits!


**A/n: What's this? Another inspirational fic with hopefully a bit of humor mixed in? I decided to actually give you guys a bit of a story this time. Hopefully I don't end up boring you off a cliff. **

**Dreams**

What are dreams?

This wasn't something he thought about often, but in light of recent events he decided he had better determine it. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind ended up in circles, and in frustration he slid off the couch, going to pace the Manor in hopes of a new idea.

But even hours of meditating couldn't stop the childish conclusions he kept being drawn to, the things everyone used to tell him when he was younger, when he didn't understand, when he was immature. He knew dreams were not what he thought they were, but he couldn't place them. He couldn't understand.

Even more aggravated, he turned to walk the halls of the Mansion. As his feet claimed the ground before him, his mind flipped around for a second. Who were the dreamers?

Well, he assumed, they'd have to be somebody intellectual, such as himself. This dreamers could be anybody, actually, but any dream worth anything would have to be dreamt by _somebody_, or _a _somebody. Yes, _a somebody._ That was it.

He was quite certain he'd find no one a dreamer (or, in other words, no one quite like him, or as intelligent as he) like him (though he still couldn't comprehend the concept of _dreaming_) so there was no one to ask. How pitiful. No matter, he needed to figure it out himself. He could, after all. There was just something he wasn't thinking of…

As he continued down the hallway, something suddenly crunched beneath his foot. He slowed, and looked at it with faint curiosity. A piece of paper? It rustled as he bent to pick it up, and when he looked at it closely he saw the crushed side had thick, short writing marking the whole thing.

When he flattened it, he saw that the top read "What Are Dreams?"

Thrilled, he hurriedly scanned the paper to find the answer to his life-long, burning curiosity.

What are dreams?

We need dreams. Dreams are what hold the human (or anything's, I suppose) heart together, what keeps the soul intact, and what allows us to truly be all we are meant to be.

If it was not for dreams, we would be lost, alone, a simple nowhere man; we'd be stumbling blindly in a wasteland of despair. If it were not for dreams, we would have nothing to aspire for, nothing to keep us holding on to the ledge, nothing to push us past the point of no return.

If it were not for dreams, there would be nothing to remind us of what we truly are. If dreams were not possible, were not dreamt of, there would be nothing for us to become or wish to be; nothing to aim ourselves toward. If there were not dreams, there would be simply _nothing_. There would be nothing but moving forward, but in the bleakest way possible – there'd be no hope for tomorrow.

Thank God we have dreams, and that He gives them to us: they keep us moving forward, but in the idea that we can achieve _something_, that there is something greater out there, and there is something to become. It gives us the idea that we can all be someone, and we can all change the world.

Because we _can._

What some people may not recognize as dreams is reality. What some people may not realize is dreams are reality. "A dream you dream alone is only a dream, but a dream you dream together is a reality." _Because we can_. They dream of changing the world, and little of them know that they really can.

Yet because they dream, they find that they can – and they often do. _Because we can._

Some have told me it's silly to dream. They say it's because it cannot be accomplished, it's ridiculous to assume, and it's useless to have my head up in the clouds. What they don't realize is dreaming, or the act of, allows me to achieve what I dreamed of – and that _I can._

And it's so much nicer to be up here – it's so much nicer to be the dreamer. Little do they realize that we dreamers have the best grip on reality, far stronger than they do – and in fact we have the best of both worlds, the strongest clench on both, and full advantage of knowledge of how to use both. We're a double-sided weapon, _because we can _be.

We know that we _can _accomplish our dreams because we dream, but also that we can shape our reality through our dreams, giving us a hold on both. We can immerse ourselves in the clouds, or we can come back down. We can change our future with our dreams and shape our reality with them. _Because we can_.

If we want to dream, it opens a world of vast opportunities, giving us a stairway to anything we want to do, anywhere we want to go. When we dream, we're unleashing our imagination, setting our ideas wild, closing our eyes with the faith that we can dream, and that any dream is a possibility, a chance, an adventure waiting to happen.

And that's not to say you should waste your life chasing after a foolish dream. No dream is foolish, but dreams were not intended to capture you. Live your dream, but remember to not lose yourself – you'll lose your dream, too.

Your dreams may never be what they seem, but just keep looking, and you'll find it. Dream. Have faith in them, and remember what they mean. Remember what dreams are:

Dreams are hope.

Stunned, he dropped the paper, almost unwilling to believe the theory. Could it be true? He'd never heard anything like it, not once, in his entire life! And all his life he'd been looking for the answer to that one question – _what are dreams _– and it was explained in one paper! His whole life, believing nobody else had the intellect to satisfy his craving for this question – _what are dreams _– and he was wrong. He was _wrong. _

And Lucas dropped the paper, in solid disbelief that the journey of his entire life – all ten years of it – was ending so anticlimactically. Just a paper in just a hallway on just a day. It was absurd. It was…_insulting._

Who was the one that dared come along with such a theory, dared to say Lucas was wrong? Who was challenging his intellect, making a mere mockery out of his life's burning question – _what are dreams_ – ?

Instantly Lucas regarded them as an intense foe, someone to be wary of. Who was it, Snake, Samus, R.O.B.? It had to be someone with super brains, someone almost positively tampered with by outside intelligence…

And a door opened next to the shocked blonde boy, and there was a small shuffling sound.

"Whoa, must'a dropped that." And a stubby little pink arm came into Lucas's vision and snatched the paper away, leaving Lucas's gaze hazy with bafflement.

Kirby went trotting down the hallway, humming his theme song, clutching the paper he spent about five minutes on.

And Lucas collapsed on the floor.

A/N: **So, whoop-de-doo, another inspirational piece, but with more of a story like I promised…not much, and as you can tell I'm really no good at humor…in writing, anyway…So, yyup, that's that. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed "Beautiful"! It was very kind of you.**

**Review, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. **

**~Araceli L**


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